


Nothing Holds True

by markiboss (purplelly)



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Criminal AU, GTA AU, M/M, fake death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:15:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplelly/pseuds/markiboss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark left his old life long ago for another he couldn't escape from. Unfortunately, the past comes back to haunt him, and he couldn't imagine a worse way for it to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Holds True

Mark likes to think he’s earned a name for himself. It’s not his real name, and it’s ridiculous if you think about it too hard. When you hear ‘Warfstache’ it doesn’t quite send a shiver of fear down your spine. But put into a situation, per say, having that very individual be hired specifically to hunt you down and kill you, and knowing that that man has a 100% success rate, you’d be quivering in your boots. 

His new employer, a Swede named Felix, gave him a target with a surprisingly large amount of reward money. Mark took it as any other job. His target was a man named ‘Sam’, a growing threat to nearby gangs and crews. He’s sabotaged multiple heists and set up many high-up criminals into traps. To a city that only floats on crime, that’s a threat to the system. A system that Mark is unfortunately apart of.

The name struck a small chord in Mark, and he supposed now that should’ve been a clue, but back then it just flew over Mark’s head as a coincidence. It was, incidentally, the name that Jack most wanted to name a kid. It was too early in their relationship to think about kids, much less speak of names, but even before they got together Jack would claim that he’d name his first kid Sam, whether it was a boy or a girl.

It had been long enough that Mark could look back on these memories without the overwhelming guilt. He still felt guilty, but it wasn’t as crippling. For about the millionth time since he’s moved to the city, Mark wondered how Jack was doing.

The assignment lead Mark to working with Felix’s specialized hacker, a friendly guy named Nate. They got along well enough, their shared love of music being the main topic they chatted about, aside from Sam. Nate already had leads to Sam’s whereabouts, thanks to a sabotaged heist of Felix’s.

Being prompted, Felix took the opportunity to complain. “It was one I put in the most thought! It was supposed to be a perfect heist, and then the cops arrived _early,_ because _someone_ tipped them off! It ruined everything! I don’t even know how he got the plans in the first place, Mark!” Felix was one of the few employers Mark’s dealt with multiple times, and one of the few he trusts with his real name.

“I’ll get him, don’t worry,” Mark reassured. He patted his side, where his gun strapped to his belt. “100% success rate, remember?”

“I’m not worried,” Felix said. “I just want the brat dead already.”

From Felix’s heist, Nate was keeping an eye on the security cams, and found a trace somewhere in the code. A trace of another hacker. He followed it until it centered in on an area. A group of run-down apartments on the far side of town, the area known for petty muggings and junkies. To know which one is Sam’s is going to be a more difficult task.

“I already looked through the tenants list,” Nate said. “None of them match as ‘Sam’.” He chuckled. “And, sorry for prying, but Mark, I didn’t know you lived on this side of town.”

Mark’s eyebrows knit together. “What? I don’t live there.”

Nate’s smile fell. He tapped a few keys on the keyboard. “But - there’s an apartment here under the name ‘Mark Fischbach’.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “That’s not me.”

Felix walked behind Nate’s desk, curious. “How likely is it there’s more than one Mark Fischbach in this city?”

“Little to none chance,” Nate replied. He tapped a few more keys before a picture of an apartment door appeared. “We have our target.”

The apartments looked so run-down in person, Mark briefly felt sorry for Sam. Then he remembered what he did, how much of a threat he was to Mark’s potential friends, and he rekindles his anger. He reloads his pistol and holds it at his side as he peers up and down the walls of the apartment building. Windows were either covered with blinds or blocked by some furniture, so Mark was free to follow them to the window he wanted.

Luckily, Sam lived on the first floor, so no treacherous climbing was required for Mark to get inside. He brought duck tape, and he used it to tape over the window, before breaking it in with his elbow. The window broke without a sound or glass tinkling to the floor. He pushed the broken window inside and climbed through the window.

Mark had climbed into the bathroom. He paused inside, listening intently. He heard creaks and distant voices, but he was sure they came from a different apartment. Crouched down low, Mark slowly exited the bathroom into a hallway.

The living space did seem completely still. Nobody was home, it seemed like. He should still check the perimeter, just to be sure.

There was a door opposite the bathroom. Mark pushed it open gently, and gaped.

It was nearly pitch black inside, but dark shapes were clear. There were dozens of monitors spread on two desks. Computers were stacked on top of each other underneath. A sing office chair stood in front of the whole mess. Plastic cups and paper ware littered the desks and the overflowing trashcan. A bed with the covers bunched at the foot was pushed in the corner.

This was the worst hacker set up Mark had ever seen. He’s not a hacker himself, but he’s met many and none of their work spaces are as bad as this one. Mark grimaced as he shut the door.

The hallway lead to an open living area. The front door, and joint living room and kitchen. It was empty. Nobody was home.

Mark straightened himself and leaned against the wall, a small ball of frustration burning in his chest. Who knew how long he’d have to wait until Sam came back?

Just as the thought passed through his head, he heard a click at the front door. Mark crouched back down in the hallway, drawing a knife from his boot. He’d rather do this silent than using his gun.

The door creaked open as someone walked inside. Mark took small, careful steps back down the hallway, using the shadows as cover.

A person with surprisingly bright green hair passed by the hallway, and Mark gripped his knife tightly. The man was carrying grocery bags and had disappeared in the kitchen. There was the crinkle of plastic bags along with the man humming.

Mark nudged open the bedroom door open and slipped inside. As the door opened wider, the hinges let out a deafening creak.

Mark froze just behind the room’s wall. The humming had stopped.

He crawled until he hid behind the door, holding his knife out and ready to strike. He thought he heard the soft pad of feet on carpet, just outside the room.

A dark figure walked into the room. Mark rose up behind him, his hands forming a large fist, before reeling down on top of the man - Sam’s - head.

Sam cried out in surprise and pain, and Mark took the opportunity to kick him in the stomach. Sam grunted, but was up again too soon and ramming Mark away from him.

Mark’s back hit the wall and Sam was reeling a fist back before he could prepare himself. Pain exploded in his nose, but he saw the next one coming and ducked. He drove his knife into Sam’s soft belly.

Sam stepped back, crying out as he held his hands to the wound. He tripped over his office chair and sprawled backwards on the floor. The desks shook as the chair crashed into them, and the monitors’ glow lit up the room.

Mark gripped his knife and prepared to strike again, promising a lethal blow. As he towered over Sam, a weak whisper rose from the man, causing Mark to stop in his tracks.

“Mark...?”

The familiar voice was like a tidal wave, and hit Mark at full force. He knew that voice, even if he didn’t want to believe it. His hand fell to his side.

“Is that...That’s not...you...” Sam - _Jack_ \- attempted to stand, but hissed at the wound in his side. 

Mark dropped the knife and ran for the light switch. Being able to see more clearly, it was obviously Jack lying on the floor. It was Jack he had attacked, and was now bleeding out into the carpet.

“Jack - Jack, oh my god,” Mark knelt on the floor and his hands floated uselessly, unable to decide whether to cup his face or check the wound. 

Jack decided for him. He pulled Mark by the collar and held him still as he looked over his face. Jack was pale, but Mark would bet that wasn’t just because of blood loss.

“How - How are you--” Jack struggled for words. “You’re _dead._ You _died_.”

“I didn’t,” Mark said, and Jack stared at him.

Mark’s eyes dropped to the blood slowly staining Jack’s sweatshirt. Just from what he could see, the wound was deep. If Jack didn’t get help, Mark might as well consider him a job well done.

The thought made him sick. He was sent to kill Jack - no, he was sent to kill Sam, and where the hell was that guy?

"Were - Were you going to kill me?” Jack asked, and fear made his voice crack.

Mark’s mouth opened and closed, and he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Jack’s breathing picked up at every second, becoming very aware of the situation.

“I can’t stay here long,” Mark said, and Jack inhaled sharply. “Call an ambulance. Please - Please don’t tell them I was here.” He stood up and headed for the door. 

“You’re - You’re just leaving?!” Jack asked. “You come back from the dead and now you’re just going to leave me?”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He inched closer to the door. 

“Mark - _wait!”_ Jack attempted to stand up again, but the wound retaliated and he fell back to the floor. 

“Tell them Warfstache attacked you,” Mark said, and slipped out the door. He hurried back through the window and had his own phone out soon after, sending a text to Felix. 

_Wrong guy. mission failed._

_\----_

It’s not like Mark _wanted_ to lead a life like this. It’s almost funny how easily he got dragged into such a lifestyle. 

It started with debt, as most stories like this does. He owed people some money - _big_ money, to _big_ people. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t have the money before a set date. The only way he could get such cash was by doing favors for those big people. 

‘Favors’ meaning he went through a phase of selling drugs to experimental teenagers looking for a good time. His old stomping ground was a CVS by the high school, the park in the middle of town, and any bars in the area. He memorized the patrols of the local cops, which day they’d be going where, and he never got caught, somehow. 

But a percentage of his profits went to his employers, and he didn’t manage to make the deadline, despite spending countless hours pressuring poor kids to buy from him. He wasn’t even that much older than some of them. 22 and a drug dealer, selling to kids not much younger than himself. It’s what he had to do, he always kept telling himself. 

Then he was caught. 

The bar had been full with undercover cops, he later learned. They were all looking for him. One guy had come to him, a short, buzz-cut haired kid, was the son of one of them, posing as a customer. Mark had fallen for it, and lead the kid to the bathroom where he offered the kid what he had. 

The kid had immediately smirked, all smug and filled to the brim with teenage attitude. He spoke with such rotten childishness, “You’re under arrest.”

Mark knew what would happen the moment the kid’s lip lifted up to reveal his stinking yellow teeth. When the words left the kid’s mouth, Mark reached up and hit the kid’s head on the rim of the skin. 

The stained white porcelain had etched cobweb cracks running up alongside it. A chip was missing. The kid lay unconscious on the bathroom floor, and Mark’s stomach flipped with growing nausea as a pool of blood grew larger underneath his head.

Mark swallowed down the bile rising his throat and left the bathroom briskly, and then the bar. He stepped out into the cool night air, doing little to calm him, and drove home.

The gang he’d been working with heard the situation and offered protection. They’d call off the cops, the whole investigation, even silence the attack on the kid, but that’d raise Mark’s debt so much he couldn’t pay it off until the afterlife.

So they made a deal. It would be much faster for Mark would work off his debt if he worked with them more in depth - by going to the city and working as hired muscle. 

Mark had agreed without thinking about it. The guilt from attacking the kid were weights on his shoulders, and despite how much he knew he deserved jail time, he had too much to lose. 

Turns out, he was going to lose his life anyway. 

Outside of his illegal pastimes, Mark had a life. He had a small apartment, a cheap one with barely workable appliances, but livable, and his boyfriend of three years. 

Jack was his everything. They had met during grade school, but had only started dating when Mark was twenty, Jack nineteen. They graduated together, and moved in together, and spent countless nights together. Mark had begun to realize how in love he was. And how much of a mistake he had made. 

He had a week to prepare. To somehow start a conversation, that would inevitably involve a door slammed in his face. He’d have to convince Jack to move with him to the city, and most of all to come clean with his side business. 

Jack wasn’t stupid. He was aware that Mark did some unsavory things, but if he had a clue as to what and why Mark had no idea. The real problem was potentially dragging Jack into his shitty situation as well. How was he meant to break the news?

The short answer is he didn’t.

The long answer was a bit more complicated, but ultimately the same. Mark never broke the news to Jack, and he hoped that Jack never questioned what happened to him. 

Mark’s met a lot of assholes in the criminal circle, particularly in his own employers, but he’s also met a lot of good people in the same situation as him. One guy, a dealer that works at the bay in their town - Mark thought he did oversea deals - Mark’s stayed good friends with him. His name was AJ. 

AJ had been in the business longer than Mark had, and somehow still retained a jovial personality and unwavering optimism. He took pity on Mark’s situation and offered to help. 

Mark took his help, but AJ’s plan was far from what Mark expected. AJ had the same problem. He had people he wanted to protect, people he loved and who he didn’t want to get swallowed by his profession. So AJ faked his death. His loved ones mourned for him, but eventually moved on. They weren’t assets to AJ anymore, they couldn’t be used as leverage against him. 

After some thought, Mark hesitantly agreed. 

AJ’s plan was simple enough; after a night out at the bar, Mark would drive home and swerve into a tree. His engine would catch fire, his car would explode, and his body would be too charred to be recognizable. 

Mark didn’t want to find out where AJ got a body, similar in stature to Mark. After crashing his car on an empty side road, they switched the bodies and made sure the car caught flame. 

It was in the newspaper later. Mark, hiding out at AJ’s, read the article. His car and ‘body’ was found the next morning, the remains of the car wrecked and his body charred black and, as predicted, unrecognizable. They didn’t bother to do an autopsy since his ID was in the body’s jean pocket. The case was closed as soon as it was opened as an alcohol induced car accident. A tragedy, as the newspaper said. 

Mark didn’t want to think about Jack, about how Jack might be reacting to all this, so he didn’t. He worried instead about moving to the city. He had clothes, he had packed a bag previously out of Jack’s sight, and gathered all the extra change he could bear to take without feeling like he was stealing from Jack. It was enough to get him a place to sleep, when he got there.

AJ was empathetic, but not the comforting type. He left Mark to his own devices, probably knowing what he was going through.

Mark left for the city the next day. AJ waved him off as a car stopped to fetch him. Mark offered a weak wave in return, before the driver of the car barked at him to get in. The car jerked into movement the moment Mark sat down.

He worked as muscle like he promised, but the gang he worked for split up about a year later, after the leader was assassinated. Mark bolted as fast as he could, hoping he could catch a ride back to town, but he had people after him now. He skipped between gangs before making a name for himself, for his odd talent at taking targets down. 

And now, four years since being sent to the city, Mark’s nickname is well-known. He’s a hired mercenary, and his promising reputation offers him a lot of work.

And then the past comes to haunt him.

\----

“ _100% success rate, Mark!_ What the _hell_ happened to that?!”

Felix tapped impatiently on the desk. Mark looked by his feet. 

“It was the wrong guy,” Mark mumbled. 

“With the same exact name as you?” Felix asked skeptically. Nate stood off to the side of the office, looking prepared to duck out giving any moment to do so.

“Apparently,” Mark said, shrugging. “It was the wrong guy, what do you want me to say?”

“Why do you think he’s the wrong guy?” Felix asked. 

“He...” Mark trailed off. “The things in his apartment made it clear it was not him.”

“Like what?” Felix leaned forward on his desk. If there was a light pointed at his face, it would complete the look of an interrogation.

“The...” Mark hesitated. “The needles. The pill bottles. You think a skilled hacker would be a junkie?”

Felix studied him for a long moment. He wasn’t convinced. 

“Did you see him?” Felix asked. 

“No, he was out,” Mark said. 

Felix raised an eyebrow. Even Nate looked confused. 

“But...You’re nose...” Nate said. 

Mark reached a hand up to his nose and flinched. Right, Jack hit him pretty hard. He had dried blood sticking to his lip. 

“A mugger caught me on the way back here,” Mark lied. “It’s not a fun area, you know.”

Felix ground his teeth. His hands tightened into fists, then relaxed. He spun to face Nate. 

“Get on to finding where Sam really is,” Felix demanded, and Nate scampered out the door.

“And you-” He faced Mark with hard, hot eyes. “Just - go. Get out of here. I’ll call you if we find something.”

Mark nodded once before standing and heading out the door. He could feel Felix’s eyes on him until the door clicked shut behind him.

At home, Mark sunk to his knees on his bedroom floor, wrapping his arms around himself. He took deep breaths as he fought the growing need to cry. He had left Jack bleeding out - what was wrong with him? Not only that, how would he explain this to Felix? 

Who was Sam, anyway? 

Because he couldn’t be Jack...surely. Right?

Mark buried his head in his hands. 

Right?

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be longer, hence the cut-off at the end, but I couldn't find the motivation to continue it rn, aha. may or may not add more to it eventually, but for now it's just a oneshot. thanks for reading! :D


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